


10.03 "Soul Survivor"

by youaresunlight



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Boyfriends, Fluff, M/M, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2501333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaresunlight/pseuds/youaresunlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two romantic, feel-good ficlets (one Dean/Cas, one Jensen/Misha) written for "Soul Survivor" (season 10 episode 3). Both are based on the episode as well as the Twitter flirtation that ensued while it aired, but contain no detailed spoilers for the plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coda

Hannah frowns into the shopping basket she's been carrying around for Cas, raising a curious eyebrow when he places three pies (all different flavors) inside and heads back toward the bakery. She watches him mull over the other choices, looking more intensely focused than she's seen the angel as of late. After a minute or so, she steps into the space beside him and clears her throat, managing to divert his attention.

"Wouldn't he want to eat something else as well?" she wonders, glancing from one latticed dessert to the next. "These selections seem rather... uniform."

"Trust me, Hannah," Cas says seriously, his voice still gruff but now with a new trace of excitement. "Dean is a man of very singular tastes."

"What about a three-bean surprise?" Hannah offers, eyes widening as Cas reaches for yet another box. "I never figured out the surprise but-"

"Perhaps later," Cas stops her gently, his smile soft and then rather proud when he peers into their overflowing basket. He tries to take the handles from her but Hannah clicks her tongue and walks away to check-out before he can object, wanting to try every bit of this 'grocery store' experience for herself.

Sam is nowhere to be found back at the bunker, although Cas informs Hannah that the younger Winchester is catching up on some much-needed rest. Dean, however, is sitting in the library, and Hannah realizes just how correct Cas had been when she practically gets whiplash from the lightning jerk of Dean's head at the aroma.

"Oh, man," Dean jumps out of his chair, green eyes bright and flitting from the bags to Cas. "You brought me pie?"

Hannah thinks that the question is rather unnecessary, given that the pies are, in fact, right there, but the tone is reverent and it dawns on her that perhaps this is what humans call a 'rhetorical' inquiry. Cas, for his part, appears to understand the nature of Dean's words, and simply nods before setting the purchases on the table. But the brown paper barely has a chance to touch the mahogany before her friend is pulled into the human's arms, trench coat rustling against flannel, their bodies pressed together closely enough to make her blush.

Cas sighs once more, but it's different - not resigned or weary but like he's finally relaxed, like a weight has been removed from his shoulders. He leans into Dean, wraps his arms around him in return, and Hannah maybe understands what he'd meant about 'priorities' and why Cas chose Dean Winchester time and time again.

Cas' eyes open and he looks at her over Dean's left shoulder, smiling apologetically like he's worried that she may feel awkward. But Hannah shakes her head, murmurs an excuse about 'finding plates' that she knows Dean is too preoccupied to hear, and at Cas' subtle nod she heads out into the hallway, unexpected instincts telling her to take plenty of time in locating the kitchen and the silverware.


	2. #YourFavoriteDirector

Misha's hands are rather distracting when given something to hold.

His fingers, of course, are alluring in their own right, empty or not, each one long, slim, and graceful. But when they're curled around an object - a cold beer, a pen - or ghosting across Jensen's skin, teasing, caressing, Jensen can't help but watch, sometimes forgets to breathe.

It's happening right now, on his couch, Misha resting against the cushions, attached to that damn phone like it's an extra limb. The corners of his lips quirk up as he types, self-amused by his wit - the smug bastard - but Jensen only has eyes for the deftness of those hands and fingers, their movement as clever as the words they're swiftly forming.

He's so focused on them that he misses the first time Misha's foot nudges his leg, gaze finally tearing away at the second try, which is a little harder and more insistent. Misha then stares at him like he knows, like he's aware of Jensen's secret fixation, and he tests Jensen by running a thumb languidly along the edge of his phone, smirking when Jensen flushes and glares.

"What?" Jensen snaps, harsher than he intended. He mellows the syllable by softening his eyes, but Misha's already humming indulgently.

"Stop ogling my beautiful hands and check your Twitter, you perv."

"I wasn't-" Jensen cuts himself off, because there's no use in pretending when Misha clearly sees him,  _through_  him, often unnervingly so. He does make it a point to roll his eyes at Misha before grabbing his phone, though, heaving a martyred sigh as he peers at the screen.

"You tweeted the wrong me."

Misha blinks and frowns, a brief squint of confusion coloring his entire face in a shade of adorable, an adjective Jensen would never admit out loud. "I did?" Misha turns his attention to the phone again and laughs after a second, rubbing a palm over his jaw to the back of his neck. "Oops." His eyes crinkle and wink at him playfully. Jensen's breath catches in his throat. "Reply anyway?"

Jensen swallows, masking his reaction with a cough. "Yeah."

It takes him a minute to draft up a response, but he's pretty proud of it as he posts, prouder when Misha reads and laughs and pushes into his space, keeps going till Jensen's lying on his back. He clutches instinctively at Misha's hips, and tugs impatiently on the hem of Misha's thin tee that's been driving him nuts for the past two hours.

"That was a bit presumptuous, don't you think?" Misha murmurs against his lips, hands starting to roam, slowly enough for Jensen to feel every fingertip, the trail of their warmth.

"No, I think-" he gasps at Misha's mouth on his neck. "I think it's true."

"Hmm," Misha says, considering, unable to remain still as always, touching, nuzzling, nipping Jensen into a desperate mess. "I guess I'll give it to you," he relents eventually, then pulls away and sits up, straddling Jensen's thighs, eyes gone dark and wide.

"My favorite director," he smiles, walking the fingers of one hand across Jensen's clothed stomach. "So, Director Ackles, now that you've got me here, what would you have me do?"

Jensen meets the heated look head-on, can almost hear the quiet tension spark in the small distance between them. He maintains their eye contact as he reaches for Misha's wandering hand, and offers no chance for protest before he brings the fingers to his lips.

" _Jensen._ " Misha's voice is all smoke and gravel, and he squirms when Jensen's grip contracts on his wrist, when he feels the tongue tasting skin and each knuckle, the gentlest graze of teeth.

Jensen ignores the pleas and continues to suck and lick and kiss until Misha is, at last, off balance, has tossed aside that veneer of mischief.

When he's satisfied, Jensen releases the slick fingers from his mouth, but doesn't free them from his grasp just yet. Instead, his eyes rake over Misha's face -  _pink cheeks, pink lips_  - and body -  _tan beneath white fabric_  - and lift once more toward darkened blue; it's like staring at the ocean after sunset.

"Now that you're here," he picks up their conversation, unoccupied hand drifting to the exposed skin above Misha's waistband, "why don't we take off this shirt?"

Misha shudders at that, eyes flashing fire, and a moment later when he presses into Jensen, chest bare and strong and caging his rapid heartbeat, Jensen searches out Misha's hands, and entwines their fingers tightly together.

**Author's Note:**

> Do leave me your thoughts and feel free to come find me on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tk/).


End file.
